


fear and feeling

by wallofglass



Category: Holby City
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 19:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14858981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallofglass/pseuds/wallofglass
Summary: John is scared but maybe not for the reason the screenwriters have in mind.





	fear and feeling

-You spoken to John about Jac? Have sent you the scans if you want to have a look. I think he’s scared x-

Elbows on his desk, head in his hands, Henrik read the text three times over. Roxanna was the most perceptive person he knew, especially when it came to John, but he had never known John to be scared. Stressed, anxious, desperate - but always with the underlying confidence that he would succeed. Or at least fail in style, in a way that could be framed as a new opportunity.

-I’ll talk to him.-

He set the phone down and opened up his emails. He had been avoiding clicking on the link all evening. Seeing the internal deconstruction wrought by his son was too punishing even for him. He had carefully avoided forming an opinion on Jac’s inclusion in the trial, but the idea that John was scared about it interested him.

The scans loaded full size, wider than the screen and Henrik examined the injuries pixel by pixel. The creeping damage was obvious and he felt a stab of anger at John for even considering not helping. His phone tinged and he swiped Roxanna’s message open forcefully, angry at her too, for involving him in this.

-Thanks for this, I hate to involve you but he listens to you. And I suspect you know where to find him.-

Henrik’s anger ebbed and he smiled to himself.

-I always said you were the observant one. I’ll let you know how it goes-

-That’s what comes with having three useless boys as friends... See you tomorrow x-

-Goodnight x-

The ‘x’ felt unnatural but he knew Roxanna would appreciate it. Henrik stood up abruptly and pulled on his coat.

‘Time to face your fears John...’ he muttered as he locked up his office.

-

John was in bed when Henrik got home. He was wearing one of Henrik’s favourite sweaters and had a crime novel propped open on his chest. Henrik sat down on the bed, removed the book,and laid a gentle hand on John’s shoulder.

‘Mmmenrik.’ John turned towards him, still mostly asleep. It didn’t seem fair to ambush him here but they always had their most honest conversations when John was too disoriented to lie.

‘How was work?’ John said, blinking sleepily up at him.

‘Fine. What time did you get in?’

‘Mmm don’t know.’ John closed his eyes and seemed about to drift off again. He was at the perfect stage of delirium.

‘Roxanna texted me. She wanted to know how you’re feeling about the Jac situation.’

John’s brow furrowed.

‘Overruled,’ he replied. Henrik stroked his hair, softening him again.

‘She thought you might be scared.’

That woke him up. He swatted Henrik’s hands away and struggled to a sitting position.

‘I’m not scared. I have every faith in the trial, you know that. I don’t appreciate being ambushed when I’m in my bed.’

‘You’re in my bed,’ Henrik reminded him, but he kept his hands to himself. John was scared. His anger proved that much.  
‘Just tell me what you’re worried about, John. We’re supposed to talk to each other.’

Leaving the conversation hanging in John’s court, Henrik got up and started getting ready for bed. He noticed John watching him undress and hid a smile. He got into the bed, facing the wall, and picked up his book, glad he had decided to tackle some Pushkin. John would see it as a dig at his own reading habits - mostly airport crime thrillers - and he was always more talkative when he was feeling slighted. Henrik felt him lie down again, settle under the duvet and turn his head, though which way he facing was unclear.

‘I’m not scared for me,’ his voice was quiet, his words drawn out cautiously, ‘I’m scared for you.’

Henrik tried to breathe silently. This felt important.

‘We saved her. She was dying but we saved her. He - your son - he didn’t—‘ John swallowed, and when he continued he was whispering.  
‘He didn’t get her. But if I operate and— well then maybe - its as if he did.’

Unable to listen to the cracking of John’s voice Henrik rolled over. There was a watery shine in John’s eyes and he was facing Henrik after all, lying close beside him. Henrik pulled him closer still, arms snaking around him, and tucked John’s head under his chin. He felt John’s breath, warm and stuttering against his neck. He had no advice to offer, the decision had already been made, but he wanted to explain that John was wrong, that he would never blame him for something that was his own fault before anyone else’s, that he was still so grateful for John’s presence on that day and on all the days since, but none of it came together in proper thoughts. All he could feel was the most agonising mess of pain and self-loathing and the tenderest of affection for the man in his arms, and the emotions were so antithetical that he hated himself even more for letting them exist together. He wanted his feelings for John to be separate from his feelings for Fredrik, but his mind, which he had always kept under firm control, rebelled against his attempts to partition the two.

For a moment Henrik was convinced he would die from the intensity of his emotions but they soon paled and he found himself grudgingly remembering his therapist explaining the theory of the unsustainability of emotional climaxes during their first session.

John was looking at him, having pulled his head away from Henrik’s grip. His eyes were bluer than ever and Henrik kissed him in a burst of passion until John moaned into his mouth and started to sneak his hand under Henrik’s waistband.

‘You know you have no reason to be scared,’ said Henrik. John huffed out a laugh, distracting himself from the conversation by kissing Henrik’s neck.

‘John—‘

‘I know.’ He looked serious, but Henrik knew that could be a ploy to get him to stop talking and start kissing him back. He considered pushing the subject but found that he had lost interest in it. Jac would be able to persuade John anyway, she was formidable even in pain. He thought about the scans again, the slow deterioration around the path of the bullet. The bodies response to trauma. He tried to remind himself that his brain was responding to its own cataclysm, before he felt John’s hand, which had been working at his waistband again, finally reach its target and he stopped thinking about anything.

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to be winding and inconclusive and the fact that Henrik stops thinking about a Very Serious Matter is not a reflection on his priorities but on John’s hoeing skills.


End file.
